[She doesn't want to smash any, not even against his head. Were circumstances different, she'd likely relish the chance to destroy a few bottles--but she doesn't even want to touch one right now.
A waiter in this world had offered her liquor once, when she'd gone out to dinner with Aunamee as they first got to know each other. She'd felt insulted and acted extremely short with the offending human, but she hadn't attacked him, or begrudged Aunamee his own drink order. So long as those drinking in her presence do so in moderation, she'll resign herself to being uncomfortable yet largely civil about it.
Here and now, though? Even that basic civility is too much to ask of her. She's been hit with so much devastating information in so short a time that what might ordinarily strike her as an insult feels instead like a cruel and deeply personal attack. It feels as if he's comparing her to her father, or taunting her over her childhood. As if he offered her the stuff to say he thinks her weak enough to relapse into her old, addictive ways, even though her personal brand of substance abuse was heroin.]
Fuckin' do it yourself.
[In this moment, she knows without a doubt that she hates this man. It goes so far beyond him being a cop, now, that she couldn't put words to how virulently she despises him. It isn't at all fair to him--he'd only been trying to apologize for upsetting her, to forge a friendlier bond--but she's not thinking rationally. Her hatred of him isn't fair and the lifelong string of tragedies and abuse that led her to think in such twisted, fucked-up ways wasn't fair and now she's taking it aaall out on him because there's no one else to take it out on but herself, and that part will have to come later, when she's alone. God, she feels so sick.]
CW: heroin addiction, alcoholism, abuse
[She doesn't want to smash any, not even against his head. Were circumstances different, she'd likely relish the chance to destroy a few bottles--but she doesn't even want to touch one right now.
A waiter in this world had offered her liquor once, when she'd gone out to dinner with Aunamee as they first got to know each other. She'd felt insulted and acted extremely short with the offending human, but she hadn't attacked him, or begrudged Aunamee his own drink order. So long as those drinking in her presence do so in moderation, she'll resign herself to being uncomfortable yet largely civil about it.
Here and now, though? Even that basic civility is too much to ask of her. She's been hit with so much devastating information in so short a time that what might ordinarily strike her as an insult feels instead like a cruel and deeply personal attack. It feels as if he's comparing her to her father, or taunting her over her childhood. As if he offered her the stuff to say he thinks her weak enough to relapse into her old, addictive ways, even though her personal brand of substance abuse was heroin.]
Fuckin' do it yourself.
[In this moment, she knows without a doubt that she hates this man. It goes so far beyond him being a cop, now, that she couldn't put words to how virulently she despises him. It isn't at all fair to him--he'd only been trying to apologize for upsetting her, to forge a friendlier bond--but she's not thinking rationally. Her hatred of him isn't fair and the lifelong string of tragedies and abuse that led her to think in such twisted, fucked-up ways wasn't fair and now she's taking it aaall out on him because there's no one else to take it out on but herself, and that part will have to come later, when she's alone. God, she feels so sick.]